


In the After

by mosylu



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Post-apocalyptic AU, amputee characters, references to violence and mutilation, survival commune
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 08:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12791094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosylu/pseuds/mosylu
Summary: After the end of the world, Central City became a nightmare hellscape dystopia, where some survive and others thrive.It's tempting to stay safe, holed up in the old motel just off the freeway, but Caitlin knows that sometimes you have to risk the vicious outside world for the ones you love.





	In the After

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the NaNo prompt "Don't leave me" for rinna-girl5 on Tumblr.
> 
> I knew I wanted to write something about the nightmare hellscape dystopia that Cannibal Wells (of the Council of Wellses) came from, but when my original idea hit the ten-page mark and there was still a lot more to tell, I accepted that it would not be a NaNo prompt and filed it away to work on later. This, then, is in the same world but happened before that original idea. In spite of the way it might read in the first section, this really, really is a Killervibe story. And it wound up being 6ish pages anyway.
> 
> It being a nightmare hellscape dystopia, there are references to acts of terrible violence, one in particular that I had to draw from the episode, so take care of yourself if you need to.

By the standards of before, the motel was a craphole. One of those skeevy places that advertised rooms for 39.99 on the giant signs you could see from the freeway, with free HBO and wifi, and a pool for the kids. The bedbug infestation came on the house.

By the standards of the after, it was a kingdom.

Julian Albert couldn’t see much of it from his position just inside the razor-wire fence, but he could see that some of the windows still had glass, and curtains, and the ones that didn’t were all neatly boarded up, no gaping holes. A few even had what looked like shutters, cracked open as if the occupants of the rooms behind peered out at him. The little corner of the pool-for-the-kids that he could see had been fully drained, no water sitting around creating mosquitoes and mold.

This was a prime spot, capable of sheltering up to a hundred or more people in reasonable comfort.

And its queen knew it.

Iris West lounged on the motel’s front porch in a folding chair, looking bored and faintly contemptuous. For the after, her look was downright stylish - a leather jacket, jeans without any holes, a black tank top. She even wore tiny gold earrings, almost lost in her frothing black curls.

She had her similarly-attired entourage around her - a young man with long black hair sprawling in a chair next to her, his right arm hooked around the back. A young black man stood at her shoulder, and a petite white girl stood at her other elbow, both of them looking like it would be a downright pleasure to rip his throat out.

And then there was the white-haired woman behind him, holding the knife to his throat. It radiated chill, almost as if it were made of ice, but it wasn’t melting.

Julian couldn’t work that out and didn’t bother to. He’d bargained with groups before and the trick was in the first ten minutes, in showing each other who you were and what you had of value.

“Jesse,” Iris said. “Take his weapons.”

A brief wind surrounded him, and when it abated, a pile of weapons clattered to the concrete in front of the girl. He catalogued them, his stomach twisting up. His shotgun, his sidearm, the knives from his hip and his ankle and even the needle-thin ones from his wrist. Everything.

Shit.

He’d heard there were freaks in Central City. People who’d gotten special powers from the particle accelerator explosion that had turned their world into fucking Mad Max. Looked like he’d found some of them.

“I’d better get those back,” he said, nodding at his weapons.

Iris smiled at him as if she knew what he was thinking. “So,” she said. “Frost tells me you’re requesting shelter.”

“An arrangement, yeah.”

“An arrangement,” Jesse mocked in a high, affected faux British accent like a movie Cockney. “Listen to that accent. Posh.”

Snickers all around.

He managed a tight smile of his own. He knew somebody who’d had their tongue cut out for not laughing at the right joke. He pressed on. “Not just for now. Anytime I come through.”

He’d had a stopping point in this area, but when he’d dropped in this morning, he’d found the house thoroughly sacked and the walls painted with blood.

Well. It happened.

But it did mean he needed another landing place. And this one was bigger than the two or three families that had been living in the house. They’d need more things.

“What’ll you give us?” Her eyes dipped to his meager packs. “Doesn’t look like you have much to offer.”

“Information. I’m a trader,” he said. “I travel all around the metro area. I know every warehouse and supply cache in the city limits. Whatever you want, I can get it.”

Usually this was a trump card. But Iris laughed. “Pass.”

“What?”

“We’ve got our own sources of information. We don’t need yours.”

“Do you know where the warehouses are? Who’s got the best supplies? Sitting here in your little motel on the outskirts, you can’t get more than the dregs.”

The sprawling young man drawled, “Like she said, Tea Boy, we have our ways.”

Iris gave a little nod, and Julian let out a yelp as something yanked at his hair, hard. The black boy stood next to Iris with Julian’s hat in his hand, smirking.

He handed it off to the sprawling man, who spun it around his finger once or twice. “Hmm,” he said. “Julian Albert. You’ve made the lap around the metro area on your scooter - sweet ride, by the way - no fewer than fifteen times in the past four years. You have similar trading arrangements with eight - ” His eyes flickered. “No, seven locations. But for the most part, the places you hit for supplies are places we’ve already been.”

He gave his hand a flick. The hat sailed off it and thumped Julian lightly in the chest before flopping down to lie at his feet like a dead animal.

“You see,” Iris said. “We just don’t need anything you have to give us, and we don’t need another drain on our resources. So, I think it’s time for you to go.”

Julian swallowed. “Right,” he said. “Right.” He turned his head very carefully to look into the glowing white eyes a few inches from his own. “You mind dropping that knife there, Frost, so I can get out of your hair?”

Her mouth curled up in a tiny smirk, and she dropped the knife - literally, opening her hand and letting to crash to the ground, where it shattered on impact.

“Just so you know, I don’t need a knife to hurt you,” she said, and held up her hands. They poured out mist, and he could feel the cold like he’d climbed into a deep freezer from the before. “Frostbite burns like a bitch.”

Jesus _fucking_ Christ. He’d found all the freaks, hadn’t he?.

He leaned down to get his hat, shifting so most of his weight was on his right leg, calculating how much gas his little scooter had and whether it could get him to one of his regular spots before nightfall.

“Wait,” Frost said sharply. “Where did you get your leg?”

He stopped. Turned, careful not to limp or wince. “My what?”

She leaned down and yanked up his left pant leg, exposing the plastic foot laced into his boot and the metal pipe-like leg that ran up to just below his knee. “Your prosthetic. Where did you get it?”

“Caitlin,” Iris said, and whether it was a warning or a question or just trying to get her attention, Julian couldn’t tell. 

“Maybe I always had it,” he said cagily, watching Frost - or Caitlin. Whatever her name was. “Maybe I lost my leg in the before.”

He finally pinpointed what was different - her eyes had gone from white to brown. The change shook him more than he cared to admit, even to himself.

She dropped his pant leg and straightened up. “If you had, you’d just say so. And after four years of the after, it would be a lot more beat up. That was recent. Where did you get it?”

The long-haired man abandoned his sprawling posture and sat up straight. With his right arm out in front of him, Julian could see what had been carefully hidden before - it ended just below the elbow. The stump was wrapped in crisp white gauze, and the way he handled it told Julian the loss was recent.

“Got an owie there, mate?” he asked.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Stung a little.”

“How’d it happen?

His lips barely parted. “Harrison Wells. He chopped it off with an axe. Then he cooked it and ate it in front of me.”

“Yeah,” Julian said. He’d tangled with Wells before, in the city center. Some people survived the after, and some thrived. Harrison Wells thrived, to an unsettling degree. “Sounds like him.”

He looked around, feeling the power shift and tilt. “Well, well, well,” he murmured. “Seems like I have something you want after all.”

* * *

Cisco paced the front lobby. “No,” he said. “No, no, no, no.”

“A warehouse,” Caitlin said. “An entire warehouse of medical supplies. Almost untouched as of three months ago, he said. A whole section of specialized items, including prostheses!”

“Three months! A lot could have happened in three months. You could get there and it could be burned to the ground, or ransacked to the walls, or all the fakes could be those fancy-ass myoelectric models that all got blown out with the EMP!”

“His wasn’t,” she said. “I have to try.”

Cisco whirled. “Iris, tell her she can’t do this.”

Iris opened her mouth, but the thunder of feet on the stairs leading to the second floor brought her head up. A moment later, two toddlers careened around the corner of the staircase, followed by an older man - Iris’s father and her twin children.

“They woke up and wanted Mama,” Joe explained unnecessarily, since Dawnie and DJ were already attempting to climb their mother’s leg, demanding kisses. “You take care of that fella?”

“Sort of,” Iris said, hoisting DJ onto her hip and giving him a big kiss, then setting him down and repeating the motion with Dawnie. “That’s what we were talking about.”

“I could hear the yelling from upstairs,”  Joe said dryly, and Cisco looked abashed.

Iris straightened her daughter’s poofy ponytail, put her down, and said, “Go play, babies.”

When both children had raced off into the next room and were safely away from the argument, Cisco pointed accusingly at Caitlin. “She wants to go someplace with a virtual stranger on the off-chance that she might find a slightly better fake arm for me.”

“Dammit, Cisco, it’s not a fake, it’s a prosthetic, and I’m after a much better one,” Caitlin snapped. “The one you have now is barely better than a stick, and it hurts you to wear it.”

“I just have to get used to it,” he said. “Or maybe I won’t wear one. Maybe everyone will just have to get used to Stumpy here.”

Caitlin looked at Iris. “It’s not just the prosthetic, which could significantly improve Cisco’s quality of life,” she said pointedly. “We’re dangerously low on a lot of medical supplies and this is my chance to stock up.” She started ticking them off on her fingers like a Christmas list. “I desperately need more syringes and needles. Gauze, medical tape, surgical-grade thread for stitches. IV bags would be amazing. Tubing for blood transfusions. Slings and braces. Antibiotics, pain killers - ”

“You wouldn’t be low on those if you hadn’t used them up on me,” Cisco muttered.

“I’d make that choice a thousand times,” she snarled. “And we were getting low before. We would have gotten to this point whether I used them all on you or doled them out like gold or threw them in the river.”

“We could get those from our regular places.”

“Most, not all. Definitely not the prosthesis.”

“He’s still a stranger," Cisco growled. "What if he cuts your throat and leaves you for dead?”

“He’s got a point,” Joe said. “Even in the before, I’d say that to a young lady taking off with somebody she barely knows.”

Caitlin said, “I hear what you’re saying, believe me, but, you know - ” She held up her free hand and let the cold surge up her arm, center in her palm, spill out of her fingers in streamers of mist. “I can take care of myself.”

Joe nodded. “That you can.”

Iris said, “You got a look at him, Cisco, with his hat. Do you really think he’s the type?”

Cisco flopped down on the couch. He looked very pale, patches of sweat decorating his hairline. Caitlin gripped her hands behind her back to stop herself from going over and checking his forehead for fever. He’d only fought off the last of the infection from the amputation a week ago, and his energy levels were still low and liable to sputter out unexpectedly.

“I want to say yes,” he muttered after a long moment. “But it felt like he’s exactly what he says - lone wolf type, goes around making his own living, touching down in a few places around Central City to trade and share news.” He looked up at Iris. “His original spot near here was 1748 Magnolia Avenue. The people who lived there? They’re gone.”

“Gone as in - ”

He looked at his hand. “He buried what was left.”

Iris closed her eyes, her face falling into lines of grief and guilt. “I told them they should come here.”

Caitlin put her hand on Iris’s shoulder. “We can only defend what’s inside this fence, Iris. It wasn’t your fault.”

Iris nodded, eyes still closed. “He buried them?”

“Mhm. Said a few words too.”

“Well, that speaks well of him, even if he is an obnoxious jerk.”

“Jerk is pretty low on the scale of terrible these days,” Caitlin said.

Joe added, “Here’s something you haven’t thought of. If this fellow’s on the road that much, he might catch wind of Barry.”

The specter of Iris’s beloved, the father of the twins that he’d never seen or known about, seemed to hang in the center of the room. She looked at nothing for a few minutes, then nodded once.

“Okay,” she said. “Here’s what we’ll do. Jesse and Wally will transport Caitlin and Julian to this warehouse of his.”

Cisco sat up. “Iris!”

“You’ll take the long way around,” she told Caitlin. “Through the outskirts. It’ll still be a shorter trip, time-wise, than that little scooter of his, and safer if our speedsters can zip you away from trouble.”

Caitlin nodded.

“If the trip goes well, if you find he has good information, then we’ll consider the kind of trading relationship he wants.” She dusted her hands on her jeans. “I’m going out to talk to them now.” She narrowed her eyes at Cisco and Caitlin. “You two - have that fight that’s brewing, but do it away from my babies.”

Cisco shut his eyes and slumped down into the couch cushions.

When Joe and Iris had left, Caitlin sat next to him. “Are we going to fight?”

He’d put his hand over his eyes. “Fuck. I don’t have the energy to scream and yell, but I really want to.”

She gave in and touched his forehead. He muttered, “I don’t have a fever. The vibing wiped me out, that’s all.”

She dropped her hand back to her lap, digging her nails into her knee so hard she could feel it through her tough pants. He never used to get tired after vibing. Not this tired. Maybe it was the lingering effects of the infection, or maybe his vibing ability had been permanently affected by the loss of one hand.

After all, he’d lost his breaching ability entirely.

“Look,” she said. “It’s your choice about the prosthesis. If I bring one back and you use it as a paperweight for the rest of your life, then fine. That’s your call. But if you’re saying you don’t want one just because you’re afraid I’ll get hurt going to get it - ” She shook her head. “Well. No. I’m not allowing that. Make your choice again.”

He dropped his hand from his eyes and looked at her for a long moment. Then he raised his right arm, holding the gauze-wrapped stump in between them. “If this happens to you - or something worse - you know I’d lose my fucking mind, right?”

He didn’t like her touching his right arm anymore. He accepted it when she had to treat the wound site, but other than that, he hated for her to lay her hand on his bicep or touch his elbow to get his attention. He wouldn’t even wrap it around her in a hug. Left arm only.

That was why she moved carefully around his upraised stump before settling in his lap, resting her forehead against his. “Do you think I don’t know how you feel? I spent hours wrapped around you in our bed, while infection was eating you alive. Begging the antibiotics to work, begging you. ‘Don’t leave me. Please, please, don’t leave me.’” She put her hands to his face and kissed him. “Don’t leave me alone.”

His left arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her close. “So why?”

“Because this isn’t just for you. Don’t get me wrong, it’s mostly for you. But we’ve got a motel full of people and I need medical supplies.” She traced the dear shape of his face with her fingertips. “You didn’t leave me. And I’m not going to leave you. I am coming back.”

He rested his head against hers. “You can’t say that, not for sure.”

In his voice, she heard resigned acceptance. He wasn't happy, but he wouldn't stop her from going, either. She would take it.

She curled into him, laying her head on his left shoulder. “No, I know. But we never could. Not even in the before.”

FINIS


End file.
